


What Lies Beneath the Mountain

by thoughtsinplaces



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Action, All that good stuff yo, Bellarke, Canon Continuation, Dystopia, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 21:29:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1832914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoughtsinplaces/pseuds/thoughtsinplaces
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“They are not just scientists,” Lincoln replies, stepping forward into the light. “They are murders. They experimented on my people, looking for the cure.”</p>
<p>             “The cure?” Bellamy says, “the cure for what?”</p>
<p>             “Their mutation.”<br/>--</p>
<p>a canon-based continuation of what happens after 1x13; bellarke-centric</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Lies Beneath the Mountain

**Author's Note:**

> The way of life can be free and beautiful, but we have lost the way.  
> Greed has poisoned men's souls.  
> Has barricaded the world with hate, has goose-stepped us into misery and bloodshed.  
> We have developed speed, but we have shut ourselves in.  
> Machinery that gives abundance has left us in want. Our knowledge has made us cynical.  
> Our cleverness, hard and unkind. We think too much and feel too little.  
> More than machinery we need humanity. More than cleverness we need kindness and gentleness. Without these qualities, life will be violent and all will be lost.
> 
> \- "The Great Dictator", Charlie Chaplin

            There is a tale told to the children of the reapers, water and hill tribes alike, to warn of the dangers out in the night. To teach them the limits of their own volition and safety. They tell them the tale of the mountain men. 

            Long ago, when the world was hot with fire and filled with air that choked, people roamed these woods looking for safety. The smartest and wealthiest of these people sought to a mountain that was built to be a castle. Mt. Weather was meant to be a sanctuary, a safe haven. A generation of man and woman to live beneath the mountain. They drank the poisoned water, breathed the filtered air and sat trapped beneath rock for years.

            As with these tales of men so often go, pride was their downfall. They thought themselves gods and could find a way to live above the rock with no consequence. They set to work, mixing their chemicals and such making themselves more than human. But something sinister had happened instead. Bones gone crooked, eyes glazed white, skin turned scale and things even too monstrous to repeat. All these befallen the people of the mountain. 

            It has been said that the wails of pain were heard through the mountain ranges for decades after the mutations occurred. While trying to create perfection all they sought out was their ultimate destruction.  So the walls that were once meant to protect, now were cages to keep them in. As other men and woman who survived adapted and lived on they too soon learned to fear the mountain men and all they could do. They would come in the dead of night, stealing no more than two or three. They’d find the bodies, months even years later. Just as deformed, experiments gone wrong. Gone wrong doing what—no one could say. 

            No one truly knew what occurred inside the dwellings of Mt. Weather because no one ever left the mountain alive. But the message was clear, the mountain men were dangerous, they were to be feared; _they were death_.

\-- 

            The second time Clarke wakes in Mt. Weather, she is in a different room. It’s black, no doors or windows—no paintings. Just smooth, granite walls and floors. There is deep leather beneath her body and liquid being forced into her veins, a thick, inky ichor. She wakes violently this time, her breathes loud and winded. She slashes at her arm, pulling out the IV. The liquid drips, blending seamlessly into the floor. Her vision blurs for a moment before the horrifying realization creeps in—she isn’t alone. She moves to step off the pallet, the floor warm and slick.

             This body is familiar to her; it is a boy. She brings a tentative hand to his cheek and brushes aside the stray hair. He looks so peaceful, beautiful even. His eyes shoot open focusing on her and a hand grips painfully tight in a deadlock around her wrist. She crumbles under the twist of pressure. The boy’s features cloud with realization as his fingers soften and let go. Clarke cradles her hand, afraid and concerned.

             “C-clarke?” The boy speaks slowly.

He sits up as she backs away. He too rips out the tube and looks around for answers in a room with no reply.

             “You don’t know how glad I am to see you, Princess.”

             He reaches a hand towards her shoulder, but she flinches away. Hurt filters mutely across his eyes, lips turned down in a mixture of acceptance and understanding.

             “How long have you been here?” He asks again, swinging his legs over and standing up.

             “Who are you?” Clarke says, finally able to find her voice.

             A pinprick of dread strikes Bellamy Blake somewhere deep in his heart, somewhere he has not felt real terror in a very long time.

             “Clarke, it’s me. Bell-”

             The center wall seems to disappear into the ground, creating a creaking noise cutting Bellamy off. In walk two men in long white coats, dark goggles, their hair slicked back.

             “Good you’re both awake,” The tallest one says. His hands are covered in grey gloves and his face is masked. “The amnesia should be temporary, but then again we’ve only been testing it on mice.”

            “Human subjects are just so much more fascinating,” The other one agrees inching closer to Clarke.

            Bellamy reaches around for Clarke bringing her behind him slightly. His stance is rigid and ready for a fight to break out at any second. He sizes up the two men, he reasons he could take them both and let Clarke make a run for it, but there is no knowing if how far should could make it in her condition or where the exit even led.

            “What did you do to her?” Bellamy asks instead, his voice rough and cracked.

            “Interesting,” The tall one says, “look at his posture. How he guards her, this is clearly his mate.”

            “Our research shows she belongs to the passive one,” His colleague says, flipping over some charts in their hands and showing them to one another. “They’ve had a number of falling outs, so the data is inconclusive.”

            Clarke is trembling, her hands shaking against her body. Bellamy can feel this; he grabs her hand to try and calm her. The mountain men see this and look back down at their files writing more notes. This causes Bellamy to see red, he feels like an animal in a cage. He lashes out, letting go of Clarke’s hand and stepping towards the mountain men ready to attack.

            The tall man smiles at the hostile act, lifting up his hand and a green cloud of smoke emitted from a wire causing Bellamy to retch back, coughing dropping to the floor as she struggled to breath.

            “What did you do?” Clarke screams. She runs forward, dropping to the ground as Bellamy rolls over spiting out blood. “Stop it! Help him!”

            They continued to write into their files, she can't see their eyes, but she continues to stare into the unseeing blackness of their masked lens’ knowing there is something behind them. Finally Bellamy takes a deep, ragged breath. He sucks in a lungful of air, his entire body relaxing. He just shivers, likes he's cold or fighting back a fever. Clarke looks down at the boy, nostalgia washing over her, causing her to waiver.

            “ _Bellamy?_ ” Clarke says slowly, his eyes and hands suddenly familiar to her.

            She grabs her head, a headache like no other rocking through her. She has tears running down her face, her body shakes as it huddles over Bellamy’s broken one. She isn’t openly sobbing, but she’s crying silently now as one of the scientists comes over, lifting her hair away taking her pulse at her neck and checking her pupils with a light.

            “What are you doing to me?” She asks weakly through her labored breaths.

            “You’re helping us,” The man replies. She can almost see his sick smile through the mask.

            “Dr. Krow and I will be back soon to run some more tests,” he says after a long moment. He turns towards the open exit and speaks to her. “I have high hopes for you Clarke, you’re going to do great things here.”

            The door closes as they leave and Clarke is lost once again in a black room with no doors, but she is not alone. She has Bellamy. She folds herself over him, listening to his labored breath like a lullaby and cries. She prays for the will to survive, the will to stay awake. For she fears so deeply the next horror they'd wake to.

           

 


End file.
